Definition of Defiance
by wintergreen825
Summary: They all had their roles to play, defined by the world around them. That didn't mean that they were required to stick to the script.
1. Definition of Defiance

**Legal Disclaimer:** I own my stuff, but not the original source material. That belongs to whoever. Also, the opinions and interpretations I use here may not reflect the same in said whoever that owns the source material. Look, I'm just a poor college librarian. Suing me isn't going to get you anything but tears.

**Warning:** This work may be offensive to some readers. Feel free to back out if that's you.

**Author's Note:** So this is my first attempt at an ABO fic.

**Submitting Info:**  
**Stacked with:** Hogwarts (Term 10); MC4A (Sp. Bingo; SN; Fence; FPC; BAON; Star; Shipping War)  
**Individual Challenges:** Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Sett to Destroy; The 3rd Rule; Advice from the Mug; Ethnic & Present; Brush (Y); Seeds; Alpha & Omega (Y); Short Jog (Y)  
**House:** Hufflepuff  
**Assignment No.:** Term 10 – Assignment 8  
**Subject (Task No.):** Mundane Literature (Task #3" Write about someone defying stereotypes.)  
**Other Hogwarts Challenges:** Auction [18.2] ABO  
**Space Address (Prompt):** 1A [Fertility]  
**Representation(s):** Omega Harry Potter; Alpha Blaise Zabini; Past Child Abuse; Hermione Granger & Daphne Greengrass  
**Bonus Challenges: **Found Family; Nontraditional; Bee Haven; Fizzy Lemonade; Machismo; Peddling Pots; Second Verse (Not a Lamp; Ladylike; Persistence Still; White Dress); Chorus (Endless Wonder)  
**Tertiary Bonus Challenges:** SN (Rail; Ameliorate)  
**Word Count:** 2914

(^^)  
**Definition of Defiance**  
(^^)

Harry felt like he had the time he had been foolish enough to take his shirt off while doing the weeding. His skin had the same itchy, too tight feeling to it. He wanted to scratch, but Hermione was already eyeing him like he was doing something wrong again. She had been increasingly annoyed with him the past couple of weeks as he had been in an inexplicably foul mood, unable to keep himself from snapping over things that annoyed him instead of keeping quiet. The last thing he needed was to give her some other reason to badger him about something being _wrong_.

It was only a matter of time before Hermione dragged him the hospital wing to be poked and prodded by Madam Pomfrey. Harry spent enough time in the hospital wing without getting dragged there because of a lingering bad mood. Of course, if he broke his hand punching Malfoy's stupid face, that would be a different thing entirely. Harry would gladly go then, just not whatever this was.

The pointy git had been particularly annoying all week, even more than he normally was and that was saying something. Just hours earlier, they had nearly come to blows like they had last year. Ron had been forced to manhandle Harry away before he ended up losing Gryffindor enough points to make them snub him like they had back in first year.

It was very stuffy in the common room. It was crowded as well, full of chattering students and the occasional explosion as someone's spell backfired. Harry wanted scream at them to be quiet, but that also wasn't something that _normal_ people did. Hermione would definitely want him to answer a dozen questions if he did that.

God, did Lavender drown herself in perfume? Harry gagged at the nauseating sweetness as the blonde walked behind him. He jumped up from the armchair he had been sitting in as he tried to do the reading necessary for Defense. The textbook hit the ground with an unnoticed thud as he rushed out of the portrait hole. He nearly tripped over the lip of it due to the clumsiness of his limbs.

Once the portrait closed behind him, Harry took off running. He had to get away, find somewhere safe. His skin still itched but the tightness seemed to be fading now that he was away from the crowd. Instinct pounded at him, driving him farther away from the familiar scents of Gryffindor territory. He needed to hide, needed some place that he could make defendable.

Something in him burned. He felt like he was being broiled like one of Aunt Petunia's casserole recipes. Harry caught the scent of something and turned down a corridor to avoid it. He slipped behind a tapestry of a stormy sea, following the spiral staircase behind it downward. The murky darkness eased the burning itch consuming him.

His chest heaved as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He felt like he had back when Dudley and his gang had just started the Harry Hunting game. His limbs ached and the heavy clumsiness threatened to force him to the ground. He wanted to rest, to just curl up and _sleep_, but the urge to flee pounded in his head as much as his heart was doing in his chest.

He needed some place to hide, somewhere _safe_. He had to keep going. He needed a place he could defend.

The corridor he had arrived on was darker than the one at the top of the staircase. Darker was good. Even better, the corridor smelled nice, like anise and cardamom. Harry liked that scent. He wanted to wrap that scent around him like a blanket. He dragged a hand over the stones of the wall before roughly pushing off and slipping into a room nearby where the smell was strongest.

Hogwarts had many rooms that went unused now. Hermione could have told Harry why the school had so much more space than necessary. Harry knew that it was a well-known secret that people took advantage of the abandoned rooms for their private use. The twins had had a secret workshop where they had made their wheezes while they had attended. Rumor had it that there were also several distilleries. Harry knew for a fact that Luna had stopped even trying to sleep in the Ravenclaw dormitory after her bed had been cursed last month; he had helped her set up her own little room near Gryffindor.

The point being that Harry was not surprised to find that someone had set up what had once been a classroom as a study room and craft space, complete with a pair of overstuffed couches. An astonishing array of throw pillows covered the couches. The jewel-like hues of them drew Harry in as much as the variations in textures. He wanted to touch them, to see if they felt as pleasant as they looked.

_They did_.

The thing inside him that had forced him to run from the common room gave a satisfied purr. Harry liked the pillows. The couches felt nice as well. He looked over the space, frowning thoughtfully. It was almost right, almost _perfect_.

Harry shoved one of the couches farther into the corner on the opposite side of the room from the door. Then he moved the other couch so that it faced the first one and pressed against it. The result was something resembling a bird's nest, especially with the pillows scattered over the cushions. Harry climbed in and eagerly stretched out in the space. The feel of the pillows as he wiggled among them soothed the itchy feeling, even if the burning ache continued like a banked fire.

Whatever instinct that had forced Harry out of Gryffindor Tower seemed contented enough to allow him to drift off to sleep.

(^^)

Blaise knew what was causing his foul mood. For the last week, there had been a scent permeating the entire castle. The scent belonged to an omega that was about to go into their first heat. It had all of the alphas riled up to varying degrees, as well as a good percentage of the betas. Even a few of the other omegas had started minor territorial disputes.

Whoever the omega was, they were clearly exceptionally fertile as well as being magically powerful. More than one person had taken to manufacturing excuses to visit the hospital wing, hoping to slip past Madam Pomfrey to where the omega should have been sequestered. It was as amusing as it was pathetic. Any alpha with a nose should have realized that the omega wasn't following the proper procedures, the ones created for their protection (and the protection of the idiots squabbling like animals).

Blaise refused to act like a mindless beast, driven by instinct instead of rationality. He was an alpha, from a long and distinguished line of alphas and omegas. It had been over a century since a beta had been born on either side of his family tree. Neither side had ever used their instincts as an excuse to take more than what had been freely offered.

Which was the current reason that Blaise wanted to punch Malfoy in his pointy face. The ferret had been boasting about his brilliant idea of staging a _hunt_ through the castle for the omega. _A return to the old ways_, Malfoy had announced to his crowd of sycophants, _to teach the omega its rightful place_.

The idea of Malfoy claiming the omega put every instinct in Blaise on edge. His mother had taught him that no orientation was lesser than the others, not in any way that truly mattered, but such an omega should never be sullied with such a pathetic excuse of a beta as Draco Malfoy. The omega needed someone worthy of siring the children they would carry, someone strong enough to protect them during their heats. The omega needed someone who could provide for all their needs, both physical and emotional, and anyone who believed in the barbaric practice of running an omega to ground and forcing their submission simply didn't deserve them.

Daphne's quick interference managed to stop Blaise's charge across the common room. The female alpha had to put herself physically in the way, but she met his defiant snarl with one of her own, not giving even a hint of backing down. The apple and lilac scent of her washed over him as she shoved at his chest to force him towards the exit. Under it, Blaise caught the edge of Tracey's smoky rosemary scent along with the pleasant curl that projected their happy bond. It soothed his irritation enough to accept the nonverbal directive to _leave_.

Blaise prowled away, intent on going to the abandoned classroom he had stolen to be a private study space. The stealing of abandoned classrooms was a tradition, one that the staff politely overlooked so long as no one got hurt in territorial disputes over spaces. Most of the castle was divided into ranges belonging collectively to one of the Houses or had an established claim by one of the staff.

All of which made Blaise's study a unique feature. Out of disgust, he had left behind the range belonging to Slytherin and its easily irritated Head of House. Out of respect, he had bypassed the upper basement that belonged to Hufflepuff along with the Hogwarts conclave of house elves. Professor Sinestra had accepted his claim of the corridor adjacent to her territory, despite how her mate had been carrying at the time he had initially done so. Alphas tended to clash without betas to buffer them, and having a pregnant omega (or honestly, any omega) to protect tended to increase that likelihood.

Perhaps their mutual Sorting created enough pack mentality to ease away any potential tension. Whatever it was, Blaise was grateful for it because it allowed him to set up his own territory, something he needed to soothe the instincts that tended to plague him at the worst possible time. The burden of his linage chafed sometimes, when it brought with it all the demand of alpha biology and instincts. Without beta blood to dilute it, it all condensed into a powerful cocktail that Blaise struggled to control.

_But he was not a beast ruled by instinct_.

The reminder of Malfoy's words made Blaise growl as he strutted into the far end of his corridor.

Blaise was so annoyed with the mere suggestion of forcing any omega that he nearly missed the way that the scent was more than a mere ghost. Blaise froze as he passed the secret passage to the seventh floor, in the neutral territory between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Someone had scent-marked wall. Instead of an urge to defend his territory, Blaise felt soothed, like he was a cat who had just been stroked by its preferred person. The feeling only increased as Blaise laid his hand on the spot, overlaying his own scent on the omega's. Their scents blended well; the omega's scent added a refreshing twist to Blaise's own spicy smell.

He moved forward cautiously. The scent gave away that the omega had moved from merely pre-heat to the beginning stages of heat. Regardless of Blaise's previous claim to the territory, he knew better than to startle an omega in heat. There was a reason that the hunts had always been vicious, after all. Omegas grew extra defensive while in heat, striking out even against bonded mates if threatened. Curiously, Blaise's wards were still intact, despite the door to the study being opened instead of shut as it should have been, as it had been when Blaise had left last.

Peeking through the doorway, Blaise immediately noticed the slight rearrangement the omega had made, shoving the couches into the corner facing each other. He cocked his head to the side, considering what he saw. Most omegas preferred to create their nests in smaller spaces such as closets or pantries. Even the formal nesting rooms tended to reflect that trend, being small with low hanging ceilings. To see a nest built out in the open, even in its mostly defended corner, was strange.

Curiosity drew him deeper into the room. The air was thick with the mint and sage of the omega's scent. The undernote of bitter lemon added just a hint of bite to the cool herbal tones. Blaise could barely smell himself in the space, despite having claimed it for over six years ago now. It should have made him furious to have his markers usurped so thoroughly. It should have driven him near feral with the need to fix it.

Instead it filled him with an instinctive pride that the omega had chosen his territory. For whatever reason, the mysterious omega had not only chosen to nest in Blaise's established territory, but the very heart of it. Not only that, but they felt safe enough to sleep so deeply that they still hadn't reacted to Blaise's approach. Satisfaction curled hot and thick in Blaise's gut.

The entire castle wanted the prize that had been teasing them for the last week and said prize_ had_ _chosen him_, if only for the duration of this heat. He could feel instinct to prove himself worthy of that trust settling over him. He would take such good care of the omega that they would choose him in the future as well. After all, the omega's scent broadcasted its fertile strength, and such an omega only deserved the best in everything.

The omega was barely visible among the plethora of pillows collected in the nest. Apparently, the omega enjoyed them just as much as Tracey did, as even in sleep, he was rubbing a bright orange one with his fingers and another one (this one a burnt orange) with his cheek. It was rather adorable. It was also so far removed from the way the boy acted in public that Blaise felt he should be excused for not immediately recognizing that it was Harry Potter laying there. When Blaise finally did realize the identity of the omega, he couldn't find it in himself to even be surprised.

Harry Potter being the mysterious omega explained so much as about the discrepancies.

Rumor had it that Potter had actually been raised by Muggles, instead of a wizarding family. Muggles didn't have alphas and omegas. Even Muggle-borns tended to be betas. More observant students had noted that Potter seemed to be completely unaware that alphas and omegas existed, let alone any hierarchal or territorial disputes that happened around him. Other than a few distinct incidents (or individuals), Potter immediately yielded when faced with a challenge and he had never scent-marked a territory. Most had him pegged as a rather low-ranking beta, tutting the shame of it.

Potters had an even longer history of producing alphas and omegas than Blaise's family. Lily Evans had been one of the rare Muggle-borns who had been something other than a beta. Her omega orientation had been enough to gain her acceptance despite her Muggle heritage. It made sense that her son would be an omega as well.

_And yet…_

Why did no one know? Why had no one taken Potter into seclusion when he first started showing signs of pre-heat? Omegas were vulnerable as their heat settled upon them. Malfoy's obscene chatter just proved that, and there were likely others who had the same idea. Not only that, but omegas were potentially dangerous to others. Potter habitually submitted when challenged but there was no telling he would do that during heat. He certainly wouldn't submit if Snape or Malfoy had stumbled across him. There would be bloodshed then, almost certainly.

A strange thought suddenly occurred to Blaise.

Did Potter even know what was happening?

Or he been blindsided by the growing irritability this past week? Had he known what he was doing when he had abandoned his friends in their gilded tower? Had he understood the instinct that had led him to Blaise's lair? Or had he just been frightened and confused?

Potter snuffled into the pillow beneath his head and something in Blaise went melty soft. Sweat dampened the boy's wild hair, forcing it into some semblance of peace. Unable to stop himself, Blaise brushed a stray curl off of Harry's forehead. The omega burned beneath his fingertips, warm from the slight fever that came with heat. Immediately, Harry pressed into the touch.

He didn't wake, though, making Blaise preen even more than he already had been at finding the omega in his territory. It was not a claim, and Blaise knew it. He was not a mindless beast who was helpless in the face of his biology. He was not an uncouth beta with delusions of importance like Malfoy. He would not take advantage of the instincts that had brought Harry to his study. Blaise still enjoyed the way Harry shifted into his strokes, which had turned into a steady petting through his sweaty hair.

Harry whined when Blaise moved away. The sound cut deeper than it should, forcing him to move quicker to shut the door and add another layer of protective wards. He hurried back afterwards, taking a calculated risk to climb into the nest with the sleeping omega. Harry instantly curled into Blaise, rubbing his cheek over Blaise's chest the same way he had the pillow.

The smell of contented omega lulled Blaise into sleep as well.


	2. Promise of Protection

**Warning:** This chapter contains very mild self-harm and less mild self-hate. There's also reference to the canon abuse from the Dursleys.

**Author's Note:** By popular demand, I've continued my first ABO fic. If you like what I'm doing with the trope, you might be interested in a chapter of my _Round File_ called "The Last Thing" where I also use it. You might really be interested in Magi Silverwolf, who is covering the Omegaverse AU prompt for a bunch of teams in MC4A's _Shipping War_.

**Submitting Info:**  
**Stacked with:** Hogwarts (Term 11); MC4A (Fa Bingo; SN; Fence; Star; Shipping War)  
**Individual Challenges:** Black Ribbon; Black Ribbon Redux; Fore-Touching; More than England; Misunderstood; Gryffindor MC; Slytherin MC; Sett to Destroy; Lion's Moon & Shadow Bribery (Y); Shipmas; Brush (Y); Seeds; Tissue Warning; Golden Times; Old Shoes; Alpha & Omega (Y); Short Jog; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Ethnic & Present; Neurodivergent; Quiet Time; Rian-Russo Inversion; Flags & Ribbons; Letter of the Day; The Real MC; Two Cakes!  
**House:** Hufflepuff  
**Assignment No.:** Term 11 – Assignment 04  
**Subject (Task No.):** n/a  
**Other Hogwarts Challenges:** Insane Prompt Challenge [26](Fiasco); 365 [26] (Unlikely); Mythology Club [17] (Workshop)  
**Space Address (Prompt):** 4B [Gratitude]  
**Representation(s):** Omega Harry Potter; Alpha Blaise Zabini; Past Child Abuse; Autistic Harry Potter  
**Bonus Challenges: **Found Family; Nontraditional; Second Verse (Persistence Still; Sneeze Weasel; Unwanted Advice); Chorus (Endless Wonder; Wabi Sabi; Bee Haven; Fizzy Lemonade; Machismo; Peddling Pots;)  
**Tertiary Bonus Challenges:** SN (Rail; Ameliorate); O3 (Orator; Oath); FR (Evolution); T3 (Toad)  
**Word Count:** 2419

(^^)  
**Promise of Protection **  
(^^)

Harry stirred, not really wanting to wake but feeling the need to move just the same. He could feel all the textures around him. They were still nicer than anything else he had ever felt. Even the bedding and couches of Gryffindor didn't feel this grand. Harry stretched, his fingers flexing over the fabric, and arched his back to deepen the stretch.

That was when he noticed the heat of a body pressed against his back. A vicious growl ripped itself from his throat. Suddenly, all the irritation that he had been mostly suppressing for the last couple of weeks felt like it was threatening to boil over. He needed to attack, to defend his hidden treasure trove and safe spot. Otherwise, the interloper might take it. He couldn't allow that. He couldn't.

_It was his!_

As easily as flipping around on his broom, Harry twisted his body to pin the invader. Whoever they were, they went with the motion, not fighting the hold. They didn't even try to force eye contact. They just tilted their head backwards, exposing their throat. Outside of that bit of tension, their entire body remained limp beneath Harry's.

Harry could feel the tingle that always proceeded one of his bouts of accidental magic. It ran beneath his skin alongside the itchy heat that had driven him from Gryffindor tower, demanding to be satisfied. Like a hunting cat creeping through the forest, it wanted to pounce. Following the prompting of that instinct, he leaned over his prey in preparation of striking.

Which was when he smelled it again: anise and cardamom.

It was the same scent that had drawn him into the room in the first place. Once more, he found himself drawn in, unable to resist the rich spiciness. This time there was something cooling in it now, something like the mint that grew beside the garden shed at Privet Drive or the lemon zest Aunt Petunia always insisted be added to the custard. Still, he liked having that smell laced with it.

_It was right._

He ran his nose down the side of the neck exposed to him. The person it belonged to drew in a sharp breath. Harry felt his mouth water with the urge to bite, to claim. His fingers flexed on the person's shoulders. They moved then, just a hand pressed against Harry's sternum pushing him away. Harry whined but went.

Things were always better when he didn't fight. Things were always better when he just went along with things, just accepted them as they were and didn't ask questions. He just _wanted_ whatever the scent was so much, more than he had wanted anything before, and the same bit that had been so angry over potentially losing his pillows growled at his acquiesce to being moved away from the scent. The conflict made him whine again.

"Shh, it's okay, Potter," they said, rubbing their palm in a tiny circle over Harry's chest.

Harry shook his head, hoping to clear some of the fuzzy edges from his mind. The body beneath him became more than simply an interloper that smelled really good. The dark-skinned boy was vaguely familiar, in the way that told Harry that he must be in his own year but not one of the people whom Harry interacted with regularly. Harry had vague memories of him with a stoic blonde and a smaller girl with light brown skin.

"Zabini," Harry muttered. The guy grinned and stroked his free hand down Harry's side.

Harry's eyes slid shut as he tensed to keep from leaning into the touch. He wanted to—he didn't know what, but oh, how he _wanted_—but he didn't dare risk chasing off the other boy. Zabini had already pushed him away. Asking for more than what had been given was sure to lose him what little he was being given. He swallowed down the urge to whine like Ripper being denied a treat.

"Do you know what is happening, Potter?" Zabini asked.

Harry shook his head, not daring to attempt a verbal response. Words felt even more difficult than they usually did when he got stressed. Everything seemed _more_, too, like it always did before one of his fits. He couldn't have one, not now, not at Hogwarts! Then everyone would know that he wasn't right, that he was _defective_, and he had seen how everyone treated him when they had only _thought_ that he was crazy.

"Bollocks," Zabini cursed as Harry felt someone grabbing his right wrist, pulling it away from his left arm. Harry growled deep in his chest in warning. "Shh, Pott—Harry—I'm just stopping you from scratching. I know it's itchy, but it's not something that you can scratch, not that way." The speaker started rubbing their hand on Harry's left arm, soothing the burning itch and mixing the lemony-herbal scent with the dark-spicy one. "See? Isn't that better?"

"Ye-yes," Harry managed. His fingers flexed. The fog receded again, letting him focus on how steady Zabini felt under the palm of his left hand, how strong his grip around his wrist was…and how intoxicating his scent was. Harry rocked forward with the urge to stick his nose back into Zabini's neck. In response, Zabini bit back a groan as something not spicy spiked in that scent. Harry shivered as a wave of fever rolled over him. "I, I don't—"

He shook his head again. The fog was threatening to engulf him again. It felt like Zabini's grip on his wrist was all that was keeping him from floating away. That was okay, though, because Zabini would take care of him, would keep him safe. He didn't understand why he thought that; it didn't make sense. Zabini was a Slytherin, even if he wasn't one of Malfoy's group of sycophants. Harry couldn't even remember exchanging a single word with the other boy. But having him there felt right.

A hand touched his cheek, tilting his head carefully down to focus on Zabini's dark face beneath him. Harry resisted the urge to lean into the touch. His instincts screamed that was exactly what he needed to do at the same time everything he had ever learned reminded him not to push for more.

"Harry, I know that you nested on the couches," Zabini explained. Harry couldn't help the bit of himself that preened at the fact that Zabini had noticed his work. "But did you notice the supply cupboard? Maybe you—"

Harry was moving before Zabini had even finished speaking. That was bad—_rude_—and would no doubt just extend the time he was punished. But he still scrambled into corner, tucking himself in as small a ball as he could manage. Thankfully, it was still early enough in the year that he was still small from living on Dursley rations. Unfortunately, that meant that wasn't as strong as he would have been after the winter break. He wouldn't be able to fight if Zabini decided that Harry needed to be locked away.

He bit back a sob. Of course, Zabini would decide that. He had probably seen just how greedy and selfish Harry was, despite Harry's best efforts. Oh, and the pillows were his, weren't they? They had smelled like Zabini, just like the entire room had. And Harry had just waltz in like he had an actual claim.

Like he had the right to claim anything for himself.

(^^)

Blaise could tell that he had said something wrong the moment he had mentioned the cupboard. The omega had immediately retreated to the most defensible part of the makeshift nest. And there was no doubt that Potter was deep in his instincts, almost feral with the heat that had to be growing unbearable. The small teen was practically nonverbal, and while Blaise was nearly certain he was cognizant of what was happening in general terms, there was no way that Potter could consent to anything, especially when he was unaware of what it would mean long term.

The next few days was going to be a test of the iron will that his mother would expect of him, because it was becoming increasingly obvious that Potter could not be left alone. His instincts were strong, but there was something conflicting with them. If left to his own devices, there was a good chance of Potter hurting someone.

'_Primarily himself_,' Blaise thought as he stopped Potter from yanking on his own hair.

"Hey, no, none of that," he said as he worked his fingers in between Potter's, untangling them from where they were tugging on his curls. He grimaced at the sight of the many hairs pulled loose. They drifted free as Blaise rubbed at Potter's scalp in hopes of soothing it. "Yeah, so, that's a _no_ on the small enclosed space. Got it. Won't make that mistake again. You want an open nest? You got it. I shouldn't have doubted you."

Potter trembled so hard that Blaise could feel it like a vibration in the air. That might actually be the magic growing thick enough that the likelihood of accidental magic was probably imminent. He had heard that omegas could lose control of their magic during heats, but he had never actually met an omega strong enough for that to matter. Well, outside of his mother, but that was different. If Blaise didn't do something to interrupt the panic attack that Potter was having at Blaise's mention of the supply cupboard, there was no telling what would happen when the gathering magic finally acted.

Acting on impulse, Blaise pulled Potter out of his corner and into the same kind of full body embrace he would give Tracey if she was having a flashback and Daphne was not around for some reason. It helped that the omegas were nearly the same size, fitting against him in nearly the same way. Blaise tucked Potter's head against his collarbone, trusting that he wouldn't try to bite again.

For a moment, Blaise's senses expected Tracey's burning rosemary scent with the traces of fruit and flower she always carried with her now that she had bonded with Daphne. The disorientation from smelling Potter's mint, bitter lemon, and sage scent only lasted a moment before Blaise's instincts purred at the way it blended with his own scent in a way that Tracey's scent never had. The combined scent must have had a similar effect on the omega judging by the way he began to relax against Blaise's chest.

Remembering how Potter had responded to his grip earlier, Blaise shifted so that he held both of Potter's wrists in one hand while his other hand stroked over his back. Potter gave a shuddery breath before tentatively nuzzling over Blaise's collarbone. Blaise rewarded the action with an approving hum. Potter froze as if waiting for some other reaction. Hoping to reassure the omega, Blaise flexed his hand around Potter's wrists before moving his thumb in as much of a stroke as he could without releasing his hold. To reassure himself, Blaise pressed his nose to Potter's curls to track the scent of distress as it faded into the background.

"Do you know what is happening, Harry?" Blaise murmured, repeating his question from earlier. He got a hesitant headshake as the distress scent returned only to disappear just as quickly as Blaise kept up his gentle stroking over Potter's back. "You've gone into heat. For whatever reason, your instincts brought you to my workshop, and my wards let you past."

"Safe," Potter said. The single word sounded like it had been strangled from him. Even with that, the alpha in Blaise preened a bit. That pride only grew as Potter forced out another phrase. "Smells nice."

"Thank you," Blaise returned honestly. "You smell very nice as well, and not just your heat scent."

"Hot," Potter muttered, sounding like he was talking more to himself than to Blaise. Distractedly, he rubbed his forehead against Blaise's collarbone. Sure enough, the motion left a streak of moisture in its wake. Potter moved his arms listlessly, more testing Blaise's hold than trying to get free. Potter went completely limp against Blaise, as if all thoughts of resistance had just melted out of him. "_Safe_."

Blaise had to close his eyes as the realization rolled over him that Potter had just surrendered control. His instincts crowed in triumph. The omega _trusted him_. Not only had he chosen Blaise's territory to nest, he trusted Blaise to take care of him. No matter the potential betrayal if Blaise had been a Death Eater by default as all Slytherins are often accused, Potter trusted him in this moment. Rationally, Blaise knew that surrender and trust now while ruled by heat-instinct would probably not reflect the reality waiting for them after Potter's heat ended. Potter was not truly his, no matter what his instincts told him, and it was unlikely that Potter would ever be his.

"Yes," he promised as he blindly pressed a kiss to Harry's hair. "I'll keep you safe. I won't let anything hurt you."

Harry moved just enough to be able to meet his eyes. The green, darkened with heat, shimmered with unshed tears. Blaise moved the hand on Harry's back to stroke along Harry's cheek with the back of his knuckles. Harry sniffled and swallowed several times before managing to speak.

"Promise?"

Nothing good could come of making a promise so doomed to failure. Harry was vulnerable, probably not even fully aware of what he was asking. If he hadn't been heat-addled, Harry most likely wouldn't even be asking for a promise of protection, especially not from the Slytherin son of the infamous Claudia Zabini, the witch who was seven times a widow. Blaise knew that there was no way that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and rumored Chosen One, would ever truly want or even need his protection. Nothing an omega said or asked could be considered reflective of their desires outside of this fiasco.

Despite all of that, Blaise could not bear to deny Harry even an iota of hope, not when he could see how much this moment of hesitance was already hurting him. Blaise pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead, right over the lightning scar that shone palely against his sienna skin. Then he traced his nose down the side of Harry's, only stopping when their foreheads were pressed together, and their breaths were mingling. Blaise whispered his answer against Harry's lips like a lover's secret.

"_Promise._"


End file.
